


Nine Times Out Of Ten

by lielabell



Series: Mating Habits [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Begging, Camera does not pan up, Fluff, M/M, Marking, Mating, Power Dynamics, Role Reversal, Rough Sex, Scent Marking, Top!Stiles, True Love, ahahaha did I really just put fluff after all that BDSM shit?, bottom!Derek, minor comeplay, no but really FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-09 11:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lielabell/pseuds/lielabell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nine times out of ten, Stiles is the one being pushed back on the bed with his head tilted back to expose his neck.  Nine times out of ten, Stiles's legs are the ones that are spread, his hands are the ones that grip the sheets.  Nine times out of ten, Stiles gasps and moans and arches up into Derek's touch, Stiles's thighs grip at Derek's hips; Stiles’s feet lock together behind Derek's back.   Nine times out of ten, Stiles takes and takes and takes and loves every single second of it.</p><p>But the tenth time . . . </p><p>The tenth time is different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nine Times Out Of Ten

**Author's Note:**

> So... here is the smut that Mating Habits didn't have in it. I'm not saying that you have to wade through all of Mating Habits to enjoy this, I mean, it is pretty much pure smut, but having read Mating Habits will help :D
> 
> Millions of thanks to Queenitsy and Cymbalism for the beta.

Nine times out of ten, Stiles is the one being pushed back on the bed with his head tilted back to expose his neck. Nine times out of ten, Stiles's legs are the ones that are spread, his hands are the ones that grip the sheets. Nine times out of ten, Stiles gasps and moans and arches up into Derek's touch, Stiles's thighs grip at Derek's hips; Stiles’s feet lock together behind Derek's back. Nine times out of ten, Stiles takes and takes and takes and loves every single second of it.

But the tenth time . . . 

The tenth time is different. 

The tenth time normally happens when Derek has a little too much on his plate, when his eyes are flashing red three times a day, and when his fangs are constantly on the verge of appearing. The tenth time comes after weeks and weeks of Derek snapping at Stiles, of pushing himself to the edge of his endurance, of running the whole pack a little too hard. It comes with the slam of the door and a snarl of rage and Erica popping her gum in Derek's direction, a snotty expression on her face. It comes with a whimper in the night, with Isaac's eyes wide and frightened and his nightmares haunting the rest of the pack while they dream. It comes with a new batch of hunters or the challenge of a rogue Alpha. 

But sometimes-- like now-- it comes without any warning at all. 

Derek is on his knees in front of Stiles, his hands warm on the bare skin of Stiles's hips, his nose buried in the crease of Stiles's thigh. He's letting out a high, pleased sound, almost like a whimper, but with a happy edge to it. Stiles has his hands in Derek's hair, just resting there, not trying to direct him at all, happy to let the other man sniff and lick to his heart's content. Derek nips and licks up Stiles body until he's sucking on Stiles's hipbone, worrying at it in a way that has Stiles rocking his hips and moaning with pleasure. 

"Yes," he encourages as Derek starts to nuzzle his lower abdomen, tonguing the skin below Stiles's navel. "Like that." 

Derek makes another of those happy whimpers, crowding in close until Stiles's dick is rubbing against the underside of Derek's throat. Stiles gasps at the feel of Derek's stubble, which makes Derek growl and grip Stiles's hips tighter. He pulls away from Stiles's body, turning his head so that he can mouth at the side of Stiles's dick, and _yes_. 

"Jesus Christ," Stiles pants, his hands tightening in Derek's hair and Derek’s whole body tenses in response, eyes narrowing to slits as he moans around Stiles’s dick. “Oh, it’s like that, is it?” Stiles asks, a grin breaking out on his face, because it’s been awhile since he was the one calling the shots. 

Derek doesn’t answer, just moans some more, contorting so that he can suck the head of Stiles’s dick into his mouth. Stiles’s knees nearly give out on him when he feels the warmth of Derek’s mouth, the rasp of his tongue as he licks at the slit. 

“Oh yeah, definitely like that,” he says, pushing a little too deep to prove his point. 

Normally that would earn him a growl, a pinch at his hips to remind him that even when Derek is going down on him, Derek is still running the show. But this time Derek’s eyes darken and his body sort of shivers. He hollows out his cheeks as he bobs his head, pushing forward as he sucks Stiles down until Stiles can feel Derek’s throat fluttering around his head. 

It used to throw him, send his world spinning off axis when Derek got like this, when _Derek_ was the one that eager and desperate and needy. God, he could barely believe it was even happening, that first time. But now . . . now Stiles knows exactly what to do, exactly what Derek wants from him.

He bites down hard on his bottom lip and starts thrusting into that warm, wet mouth, tugging at Derek’s hair to get the other man’s tempo right. Derek’s hands flex on Stiles hips, claws flashing out before vanishing. The sounds Derek is making have Stiles’s stomach quivering, have him tossing his head back and panting at the ceiling. 

“God, that’s good,” he babbles, “so fucking good. You have no idea.” Then he’s pushing in deep, pressing at Derek’s head until he can feel Derek’s nose brushing up against his pubes. “Look at you taking it, _fuck yeah,_ suck me down to the root. Take it all. Just like you’re going to take it when I’ve got you bent over, when I’m pounding your ass into the mattress.” 

Derek lets out a keening sound, shifting up on his knees as his hips jerk. 

“You get off on that, don’t you? On the idea of me stuffing you full of my dick. You love it, being spread wide, getting that tight little asshole of yours fucked open. Look at you, humping the air at the thought of it.”

He thrusts a little faster, his dick sliding in easy, slick with saliva and pre-come. Stiles sucks on his lips, as he watches himself slip in and out of Derek’s mouth. God, the way he looks, pupils blown wide, swollen lips wrapped tight around Stiles’s dick. And the sounds he’s making . . . the fucking _sounds._ All wet and sloppy as hell. It makes Stiles’s balls tighten up, makes him come down Derek’s throat. 

Derek tries to swallow it down, but can’t quite get it all, spit and come leaking out of the corners of his mouth. The sight has Stiles moaning like a pornstar. He pulls out with a wet pop , grunting a little as the cool air hits his sensitive skin. Derek swallows again, then licks at his lips, but his face is still a mess. Stiles reaches out, catching the sticky mess on his fingers. He brings them up to Derek’s mouth and says, “Suck them clean,” and Derek does, lips wrapping tightly around each digit, licking in between them like a kid with an ice cream cone. 

Stiles slips his fingers free, uses them to tilt Derek’s chin up as his hand clenches in Derek’s hair. “Who do you belong to?” he asks, his voice low and rough.

“You,” Derek answers instantly.

Stiles’s gives him a wild grin. “Who do you go on your knees for? Who's dick do you beg for, Derek? Who makes you want to finger yourself open, who makes your ass go all loose and slutty?” Derek moans and bites down on his lower lip, his eyes briefly closing. Stiles growls and uses the hand he’s got fisted in Derek’s hair to shake the other man’s head. “Who?” he demands. 

Derek’s eyes snap open, irises gone red. “You,” he all but howls. “It’s always you, Stiles. It will always be you.” Then he’s tilting his head even further back, baring his neck with a whine.

Stiles laughs as he sinks down to his knees, pushes Derek back onto his haunches. “What do you want from me, Derek?”

Derek licks at his lips, his eyes sliding to the side. “Bite me,” he whispers.

“Is that how you ask me for something?” Stiles releases the hand in Derek’s hair with a frown. He makes a sound of displeasure and pushes to his feet. 

“Please,” Derek’s voice cracks as he throws himself forward, wrapping his arms around Stiles waist as he burrows his face in Stiles’s hip. “Please, bite me. Mark me. Claim me as your own. Please.” His voice goes high, thin with panic. “Don’t walk away from me. Don’t leave me like this. _Please_ , Stiles. I need you.” 

Stiles runs a soothing hand down the back of Derek’s head, caressing his neck. “That’s better,” he praises. “Come up here.”

Derek reluctantly lets go, rubbing his face against Stiles’s side a final time before he stands. He’s gone soft, the head of his dick completely hidden by his foreskin. Stiles reaches out and runs a finger down Derek’s length. Derek’s shoulders jerk and his hands clench into fists, but he stays still as Stiles works him until he is fully erect. 

“Now, let’s try this again,” he says as he rolls Derek’s balls in his hand. “What do you want from me, Derek?”

“Bite me, mark me. Hold me down and mount me. Make me your bitch. Fuck me raw and then come all over me. Rub it into my skin so that everyone knows I’m yours. God, I want to fucking bathe in your scent, Stiles. I want your stink so far up my nose I’ll never stop smelling it. I want you to bite me so hard, for your teeth to go so fucking deep, that I can never heal it. I want it to be a permanent mark, something that will always be there, so everyone will see who I belong to.” Derek lets out a breathy whimper. “Please, Stiles. Will you take me? Will you make me yours?”

The words make Stiles’s heart race, make him want to whoop for joy. Because that, right there, is Derek telling Stiles that he loves him. That’s him asking Stiles for forever, telling him that this thing they have between them, this relationship, is the most important thing in Derek’s life. 

Derek isn't outwardly romantic. He writes letters, yes, but he doesn't hold hands or buy flowers or call for no reason at all. He just isn't wired that way. And Stiles is okay with that. He knows what they are to each other, knows that Derek loves him with every ounce of his stubborn, sourwolf soul. 

And this, this right here, is how Stiles knows. 

“On the bed,” he says, his throat gone dry. “I want you on your back, legs pulled up so I can lick you till you’re wet and loose. Then I’m going to finger you till you’re riding my hand, begging for it.” 

Derek makes a desperate sound deep in his throat, then throws himself at their bed, making the wooden slats creak. He sprawls out on his back, wiggling his shoulders to get comfortable, then he’s hitching his hands under his thighs, pulling his legs up and apart, exposing his little pink hole. 

Stiles feels his cock twitch at the sight, attempting to stir back to life. It doesn’t even make it to half hard, but Stiles’s knows he’s got at least a good fifteen minutes of teasing in front of him, which will give his body all the time it needs to get back in gear. 

He walks towards the bed, stopping by the nightstand to pull out the bottle of lube. “How raw do you want it?” he asks, because he’s feeling generous. Normally he slicks Derek up till he’s wet like a girl. Because that’s what Stiles likes best, the smooth glide of it, the sloppy, messy sound it makes as he fucks into Derek’s body. But Derek likes it drier, likes the tug and burn. 

Derek sucks on his lips for a moment, looking hesitant, then he visible steels himself and says, “No lube at all. Just spit.”

Stiles jerks back like he’s been slapped, dick wilting. He shakes his head, regretting even making the offer. 

“Please,” Derek begs, his eyes wide and desperate. “I can take it. I know I can. I’m a werewolf, Stiles. You can’t hurt me. Not really, anyway. And it will feel so good, I know it will.” He ducks his head a little. “I’ve been thinking about it. Fucked myself with my fingers dry just to see how it would feel. And it was _good_. Not as good as it would be with you, but I liked it. Please, Stiles. Just this one time. If you hate it, I’ll never ask you to do it again, I swear.” 

Stiles looks down at the lube in his hand, then up at Derek, whose dick is so hard the head’s gone an angry shade of red. He grimaces, but sets the lube aside and nods. “I won’t use lube while I’m fingering you, and if you get off on it, then I won’t use any when I fuck you either. But I’m not going to fuck you dry if I’m hurting you. I swear to god, Derek, you lie to me about this and I’ll . . .” His words trail off as he tries to think of an appropriate punishment. “I’ll never mark you again.”

Derek sucks a breath in, looking panicked. “I won’t lie, I promise. I’ll be good. I’ll tell you the second it edges over into too much pain. But I know it won’t. God, Stiles, I want it so bad. Want you taking me with nothing but your own spit to ease the way, nothing to water down your scent when you come.”

Stiles crawls onto the bed, settles on his knees between Derek’s lifted legs. “Yeah?” he says, “Tell me more.” Then he’s cupping Derek’s ass, lifting him high enough in the air that Stiles’s tongue can dart out, lick delicately at the tight little hole, without having to bend his neck at all. 

Derek sucks in a breath, his stomach muscles bunching. “Oh fuck, Stiles. Your _tongue_. God, want it in me. Licking deep. You know how I love it, Stiles. You know how fucking hot it makes me.”

Stiles lets out an agreeing noise as he buries his face between Derek’s legs. His nose is brushing up against Derek’s balls and he can’t help but get a good whiff of Derek’s musky smell every time he breathes in, which only serves to make Stiles want him more. He sucks desperately at Derek’s hole, then laves at it with flat of his tongue and is rewarded with a steady stream of moans pouring out of Derek, who arches up into Stiles touch, his fingers digging into his thighs. He gasps and begs for more as he starts to loosen up, his hole gaping opening just enough for Stiles to work the point of his tongue in. It’s warm and tight and tastes like the soap Derek must have used to clean himself with beforehand.

Which means that Derek must have been planning for this, hoping that Stiles would be willing to eat his ass out. Stiles’s dick throbs at the thought and he shoves his tongue in deep, curling the end as he works it in and out of Derek’s body. 

“Your fingers,” Derek moans, “give me your fingers.”

Stiles pulls back far enough to admire the view as he slips his thumb into his mouth. He sucks at it, then swipes it under his tongue, gathering up saliva. Then he quickly pulls it out and rubs it firmly against Derek’s hole, working the muscle until it is flexing around the tip. Derek whimpers as Stiles pushes it in. He circles his thumb slowly, pressing into Derek’s inner walls, opening him wider as Stiles works his thumb deeper. 

“You like that, don’t you?” Stiles asks as he watches Derek’s face, watches the way he sucks in breath after breath, the pulse in his neck throbbing fast. 

He pulls his thumb free, ignoring Derek’s whine of protest. He spits on his middle and index fingers, gets them drippy with saliva, then pushes them in, scissoring them after a few thrusts. Derek lets out a muffled curse, his ass clenching around them, squeezing down so tight that Stiles doesn’t dare move them. Instead he leans in close, licks around them, makes the tissue all soft and pliant, eager to get fucked. 

Stiles pulls his fingers free, spits on them again and then adds a third before shoving them back in. Derek grunts, his claws popping out with a snick, digging into the hard muscle of his thigh. Stiles lets out a hiss, pushing up on his arm so that he can kiss and lick at them, sucking on Derek’s knuckles until his hands are fully human again and the cuts on his thighs are healed. 

“That good?” he asks as he twists his fingers in deeper. 

Derek tosses his head back against the pillows and stomach muscles gone tense. “Oh, fuck, Stiles. It’s enough. I’m loose enough. I need more.” He rocks his hips, trying to gain leverage even though Stiles’s deliberately put him in a position where none is available. 

“No, you aren’t. You aren’t at all. God, you are clamping down so tight on my fingers I can barely move them. If I tried to fuck you now, I’d rip you apart.”

Derek’s fangs descend and he lets out an abbreviated howl. “ _Yes._ ” He sounds rough, like his throat’s been scraped raw.

Stiles’s freezes. “Is that what you want?” he asks, his voice tight. “For me to hurt you, make you bleed?” His heart is pounding in his chest, his insides cramping.

“No,” Derek thrashes his head. “Not . . . no. Just, I want to feel it. I want to feel you pushing inside me, want it to burn and ache and _fuck_. Stiles. I want you to use me, make me yours. Bite down on the back on my neck and shove my face into the pillows and pound into me as hard as you possibly can. Stretch me wide on your dick, fucking _own_ me.” 

Stiles sucks in a breath, his dick leaking. He twists his head, bites down hard on Derek’s inner thigh and is rewarded with another lust-fueled howl. He worries at it a little, digging in deep, flicking his tongue across the skin trapped between his teeth, fucking Derek hard with his fingers all the while. When he pulls back, his teeth have left a circle of pale white marks against the deep red of the lovebite. 

“Alright,” he says, because if that’s what Derek wants, that’s what Stiles will give him. He pulls his fingers free, wipes them on the bedding. “Flip over. I want you on your knees and forearms resting on the bed. Get rid of all the pillows except one. Be close enough to the headboard that you can brace yourself against it when I’m fucking you.” He presses a finger into the darkening mark on Derek’s thigh. “Do it now,” he grits out, pushing himself back from Derek’s body. 

Derek moves preternaturally fast, following Stiles’s instructions to a tee. When he’s in position, he looks over his shoulder at Stiles, eyes gone red, fangs fully extended. “Mount me,” he demands, arching his back and presenting his ass like a slutty porn star. 

It ought to come off as cheesy, utterly ridiculous, but it doesn't. God, it doesn’t. 

Not when it’s _Derek_ , with his broad shoulders and narrow waist and that tattoo that Stiles just want to lick and god. How is this even his? 

“Stiles,” Derek growls, his nostrils flaring. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment, I do. God, I fucking do, but right now I need you in me, not composing love sonnets in your head.”

Stiles gives him the stink eye, but moves towards him on the bed until he is in place behind Derek. He takes hold of his dick, rubs it up and down Derek’s crack, letting head catch on Derek’s eager little hole. 

Derek lets out a moan, his hips canting back, pressing hard against Stiles. “ _Stiles._ ”

Stiles nudges Derek’s legs further apart, spitting into his hand. He rubs the saliva into the head of his cock as he lines himself up, then pushes slowly, ever so slowly inside. Derek’s hole tightens against him, resisting his entry and Derek lets out a drawn out howl, his hands going to claws and his whole body shuddering. 

“Oh holy fuck, don’t stop,” he begs, pushing his ass back, forcing Stile to breach him. 

God damn, it’s tight. So fucking tight. And Derek’s walls are just clinging to him, sucking his dick deeper in. He pulls back, wincing a little at the tug. He spits in on his fingertips, rubs the moisture onto his exposed dick, then shoves back in. It’s a little looser this time, loose enough for Stiles to not worry about causing pain, but not nearly as wet or as loose as Stiles likes it.

But this isn’t about Stiles. It’s about _Derek_. It’s about Derek feeling owned, completely consumed by Stiles. And, honestly, a little dry, rough sex isn’t going to kill Stiles. Hell, he’ll come from it same as he would from wet, rough sex. It just might take him a little longer. And Derek won’t be complaining about that. 

God, Derek won’t be complaining about anything, if Stiles has his say. “Come up here,” he says, slipping his arms around Derek’s chest and carefully maneuvering the other man until he is upright on his knees. “Hands behind my neck,” he instructs. “Don’t let go.” Then he’s rocking into Derek as his hands skim up and down his stomach, tracing each ridge and bump. He thrusts hard, slamming himself into Derek’s tight ass, safe in the knowledge that the position will keep him from going too deep, from hurting his mate, no matter how rough he might be.

He feels Derek clench around him, hears Derek moan high in his throat, his head lolling to one side. “Bite me,” he whimpers. “Please, Stiles. Mark my neck.”

Stiles hands slip down to Derek’s hips, his fingers digging into his sides. “You’re mine,” he growls, then he’s turning his head, sinking his teeth down hard into the spot where Derek’s neck and shoulder meet. 

And just like that, Derek’s coming, ropy strands coating his abs as his ass squeezes down tight as a vise on Stiles dick. 

“Fuck,” Stiles hisses, his hands coming up to rub the sticky substance into Derek’s skin. “Fuck.”

Then he’s pushing Derek forward, back onto his forearms, pounding into him like he has been wanting to all night. Derek’s hands scramble on the bedding, his body shaking as he bucks back into Stiles’s thrusts, until the sound of skin slapping skin fills the room.

“Is this what you wanted?” Stiles asks, wrapping a hand still coated in come in Derek’s hair, jerking Derek’s head back so he can see his mate’s face. 

“Fuck, yes,” Derek’s expression is blissed out, his pupils blown, his mouth hanging open as he gasps and moans. “Just like that, hard, so fucking hard. I want to feel you shoving me open, fucking me wide. Shit, I want more. Make it hurt, Stiles. Make me feel you for a week. Make my ass burn at the thought of you.” 

Jesus. Fucking. Christ. 

Stiles yanks Derek’s hips back, slamming into him until his thighs start to ache and his hips start to sting, wrenching moan after moan from Derek. “That hard enough for you?” he asks. “Is it good for you now?”

Derek lets out a high keening sound. “Yes. Please, don’t stop. Please, keep going. I need more. I need it. I need _you_.” His whole body shakes. “Oh god, Stiles. I love you,” Derek is practically sobbing the words, his breath coming in ragged pants. “I love you so much, want to be with you always. Want to be the only thing you want, the only thing you need. Need you, Stiles. Need you so much. God, what you do to me. I can’t,” he breaks off with another half-sob. “Please Stiles, tell me you need me too. Tell me you’ll always love me. That I’m yours, your mate. Forever.”

“Derek, you know I do. You know you are.” Stiles slows his pace, soothing Derek with gentle pets and soft kisses on his neck and shoulders. “Turn over,” Stiles says, his lips brushing between Derek’s shoulder blades. “I want to finish face to face.”

Derek is slow to move, but Stiles doesn’t mind. He pulls out briefly, ignoring Derek’s whine of protest, then settles himself back between his mate’s legs, rocking gently into him. “Love you too,” he says and he dips down to kiss Derek’s lips. “Love you so much. Won’t ever leave you. You know that. You know this is forever. That I’ll never want anything the way I want you.”

Derek’s hands tangle in Stiles hair, his legs wrap around Stiles’s hips as his body arches up, pressing as close to Stiles as he can. “Come for me,” he whispers in Stiles’s ear before biting down on the lobe, rubbing his face into Stiles’s neck, coating himself in Stiles’s scent. The rasp of his stubble sends chills down Stiles’s back.

“Do you want me to come in you or on you?” he pants. 

Derek’s nails rakes down his neck and he writhes in Stiles arms. “On me,” he says. “Come all over me. Want to stink like you for days.”

Stiles laughs. “You always stink like me,” he points out, but he pulls back, slips out of Derek’s tight heat with a groan. Derek moans a little, spreads his legs even wider as he stares up at Stiles, eyes half-lidded. Stiles bites his lips, taking himself in his hand. “Jesus, look at you,” he babbles, reaching out to run a hand down one of Derek’s splayed legs, working his hand faster as he feels his balls pull up tight against his body. 

It only takes two strokes and he’s coming, spurting all over Derek’s chest and shoulders. Derek gives a lazy howl as he starts to rub Stiles’s come into his body, sucking in breath and breath through his mouth, rolling Stiles’s scent on his tongue. 

Stiles shakes his head at the familiar sight. “God, you are gorgeous like that,” he says as he flops exhaustively onto his side of the bed. “All fucked out and covered in my come. I wish I could keep you like this always, tied to my bed.”

Derek snorts. “And people say I’m the possessive one.” He yawns wide, rolling onto his side so that he is facing Stiles.

“People don’t know me like you do,” Stiles tells him, tilting his head slightly so he can kiss the underside of his mate’s jaw. 

“Come here,” he says, reaching out a hand to tug at Stiles’s hip until they are pressed together hip to flank, Stiles’s head pillowed on Derek’s chest. Stiles grumbles about sticking together, about being absolutely filthy in the morning. Derek huffs a laugh, then yawns again before nuzzling gently at the top of Stiles’s head. 

“You’re mine, sourwolf,” Stiles says, his voice a sleepy whisper. He presses a kiss into the broad expanse of Derek’s chest. “Forever.”

Derek arms tighten around him, his heartbeat picks up pace, but he doesn't say anything. Just lays there, breathing hard, body plastered against Stiles’s. He is quiet so long, Stiles thinks he’s asleep. 

Stiles is just starting to drift off himself when he hears Derek’s voice, soft and vulnerable “Tell me again,” he says. “Tell me you love me, tell me I’m yours.”

And Stiles does. 

Tells him everything he wants to hear, tells him again and again, voice soft and low in the night. 

Nine times out of ten, Stiles is the one who needs comfort. Nine times out of ten, Stiles is the one who holds too tight, who begs for reassurance. Nine times out of ten, Stiles burrows into Derek’s warmth, steals a part of Derek’s strength for his own. Nine times out of ten, Derek gives and gives and gives, until all the cracks in Stiles are mended, until all his wounds are healed.

But the tenth time . . . 

The tenth time is different.


End file.
